


showdown

by orphan_account



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-14
Updated: 2019-10-14
Packaged: 2020-12-16 01:03:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21027698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: The wand is still in his hand, fingers laced on the wood. Three bodies lay around him. Three corpses with glassy eyes and cold limbs. Three corpses with little chance of life.-----The arrow hits air, then flesh and blood and bone and oh, it's so sweet to see all the blue, blue, just like the ocean and the sky.-----She runs her tongue along her teeth, feeling her sharper, deadlier canines. Her head is pounding, so loud in her ears. A thirst wakes inside her.





	showdown

The blast of blue and red hurts his eyes, but not as much as the white of his own powers. They fight each other, mixing, coiling around the blast until his own hits the mustardblood _everywhere._

He spins, pointing his wand, fingers wrapped tightly around the base. His arm is tense- no, his everything is tense. 

His lips curl into a snarl and another blast of light, hot and sharp, twisting towards another one. 

They're fools. 

Imbeciles.

They just had to step in. 

He turns on his heel, keeping his feet steady so he doesn't trip on the slick, wet, ground. 

His white light finds another victim. 

Shoes. His shoes are wet and stained and slipping on the blood. Yellow, green, and...

...oh, purple, such a sweet color.

The wand is still in his hand, fingers laced on the wood. Three bodies lay around him. Three corpses with glassy eyes and cold limbs. Three corpses with little chance of life.

One of the corpses stirs and footsteps approach.

===> Abscond.

* * *

Paint-smeared hands trace over the wood of a bow. Two arrows is all he has left, but one is all he needs.

He runs a hand through his hair, tangling it, letting all the blood on his fingertips run into his dark locks. The colors of the blood mingle with each other, dancing together. 

So cheerful. 

Someone approaches, and he makes empty conversation with them. It's not like it's going to matter anyways. No one would miss these lowbloods, their filthy blood, inferior jobs. 

They're disgusting. 

The arrow hits air, then flesh and blood and bone and _oh, _it's so sweet to see all the blue, blue, just like the ocean and the sky. 

He twists the catgirl's wrist apart, and when he hears it crunch, crack, and snap, he slashes himself across the face.

It's a good look.

===> Locate the next lowblood.

* * *

She runs her tongue along her teeth, feeling her sharper, deadlier canines. Her head is pounding, so loud in her ears. A thirst wakes inside her. 

Her midsection, it's- 

Jade green blood spills out from it, ruining her front. 

She blinks once, then twice, and then tightly presses her eyes shut. The darkness there is comforting, but she's got to move.

Her eyes open again, and a moment or two passes while they focus. 

A cape.

The fishdick was going to be fine without it.

She stands, two shaky legs holding her up. Her hands reach out to grab onto something, anything, but only make contact with air. She stumbles forward, dragging her feet. 

It's hard. The floor is sticky. The room is drowned in blood. All she can smell is blood, blood, blood. Some of it is her own. 

Her lipstick is there. Excellent. 

She ventures out with green lipstick, bad footing, and a throbbing headache.

===> Satiate your hunger.

* * *

The lab is bigger than he thought. It's filled with machinery that does nothing and pipes that lead nowhere. His shoes squeak with every step, leaving horrible footprints.

He grips his wand a little tighter. 

He rounds a corner, stumbling backwards and crashing into a wall. There's a message.

_you're next lowblood. :o) HONK. honk. HONK. honk. HONK. honk. GET READY_

The color sickens you.

===> Run.

* * *

He dips his finger in the blood. It's like paint. The purple blood from his own wounds drip onto the ground. 

Splat. 

Another finger painting goes on the wall. Kind of a self-portrait, of him and his new scratches. The other ones stretch all across the hallway. 

A squeaking noise distracts him. He abandons his finger paintings and wipes his bloodied hands on his pants.

===> Investigate the sound.

* * *

Two meals and a hairbrush later, she stretches out her limbs. They're sore from laying on the hard ground for so long. Her midsection still aches a little, but she's no longer hungry.

Teal blood drips out from the corner of her mouth. She wipes it away. 

A honking noise directs your attention towards a hallway. Messages and paintings line the walls as far as you can see.

===> Join the honker.

* * *

That day, three trolls meet and only one leaves it feeling good.

Purple blood coats her lips.

Kanaya Maryam.

Slayer of loser incels.

**Author's Note:**

> i really like how this turned out!!! kanaya is so fucking cool in these parts i really wanted to write something for her at 1:34 am :[


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